Read Online The Sword of Damascus by Richard Blake - Free Book Online
Authors: Richard Blake
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and we’re on our way to Constantinople. What will happen there with me is impossible to say. But the moment we dock and the palace officials take charge of me, your own value as a hostage will be at least diminished. When that happens, I want you to grab the first excuse for a getaway. This time, I rather hope you’ll be a little faster than you were in Jarrow. I want you to get yourself to the Nunnery of the Blessed Theodora. It’s where the main wall joins the Golden Horn. The Abbess there is the great-niece of someone I knew well in the old days. Tell her I sent you. She’ll see you come to no harm. Whether you see Jarrow again, or even Rome, is another matter. But that much I can do for you.’
‘Surely, Master,’ came the predictable reply, ‘surely, I shall never see Constantinople or anywhere else. Long before then, I shall be paying for my sins.’
I thought of bringing him to his senses with a hard poke in the chest. But that might easily have knocked him to the deck. Besides, his face was taking on a more cheerful look.
‘And,’ he began again, ‘I remember how, the Easter before last, we were visited in the monastery by the Emperor’s representatives. You told me then that they had made fair promises. Whatever refusal you made at the time, I cannot see how the objective circumstances will have changed. Your state of health could not be known in Constantinople. If you are wanted for punishment, it would make better sense to have killed you in Jarrow. If you are now going back, therefore, it is unlikely to be for punishment.’
It was a fair point. I thought again of that clerical shitbag Alexius. Silly of me to have supposed he was the last I’d hear from the Empire. Certainly, if I’d paid attention to him then, we’d not be here now. I stopped and took hold of the ship’s rail. We hadn’t gone far from my daybed. Now, guessing my wishes, Wilfred went back for my cup. He brought it back invitingly full. Sadly, it carried more promise of cheer than performance – one part wine, three of water. I pulled a face. Edward was far more generous about refills. But I smiled and looked into the bright if sunken eyes.
‘You could be right,’ I said. ‘I haven’t discounted that possibility. At the same time, we do need to prepare for the worst.’ I looked hard at the boy. What was the worst? I wondered. I changed the subject. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about Edward I don’t already know?’ I asked. Wilfred looked steadily back at me. He waited for me to continue. ‘I know,’ I said, ‘he really is English. But can you tell me anything about how he fell in with these northerners? Has he said anything to you that we can spin into actual knowledge?’
‘I have heard him speaking English with Hrothgar,’ came the reply.
That was interesting. I hadn’t been able to catch anything of their conversations beyond the shrill cries for mercy. Was there a blood relationship? They didn’t look very alike, though that was no bar to the hypothesis. I pressed Wilfred on the nature of their conversations. But they’d mostly been connected with the day-to-day running of the ship and keeping four dozen dangerous wild beasts from tearing us all limb from limb.
Otherwise, there wasn’t much Wilfred could give me from Jarrow that I didn’t know for myself. Edward had turned up at the monastery after the last harvest, and been taken in by Benedict without questions. He’d maintained an appearance of plodding idleness that had raised no suspicions with anyone. Since then, his manner had changed markedly. Whatever conversations he and Wilfred had managed out of my hearing, though, were entirely about grammar and history and all else he’d evaded in class. He hadn’t boasted about the brilliance needed to keep up his pose. He hadn’t even gloried in the horrid end that might await the pair of us. This wasn’t the place for dispassionate judgements. But I had to admire the boy. If only! I thought
‘Surely, Master,’ came the predictable reply, ‘surely, I shall never see Constantinople or anywhere else. Long before then, I shall be paying for my sins.’
I thought of bringing him to his senses with a hard poke in the chest. But that might easily have knocked him to the deck. Besides, his face was taking on a more cheerful look.
‘And,’ he began again, ‘I remember how, the Easter before last, we were visited in the monastery by the Emperor’s representatives. You told me then that they had made fair promises. Whatever refusal you made at the time, I cannot see how the objective circumstances will have changed. Your state of health could not be known in Constantinople. If you are wanted for punishment, it would make better sense to have killed you in Jarrow. If you are now going back, therefore, it is unlikely to be for punishment.’
It was a fair point. I thought again of that clerical shitbag Alexius. Silly of me to have supposed he was the last I’d hear from the Empire. Certainly, if I’d paid attention to him then, we’d not be here now. I stopped and took hold of the ship’s rail. We hadn’t gone far from my daybed. Now, guessing my wishes, Wilfred went back for my cup. He brought it back invitingly full. Sadly, it carried more promise of cheer than performance – one part wine, three of water. I pulled a face. Edward was far more generous about refills. But I smiled and looked into the bright if sunken eyes.
‘You could be right,’ I said. ‘I haven’t discounted that possibility. At the same time, we do need to prepare for the worst.’ I looked hard at the boy. What was the worst? I wondered. I changed the subject. ‘Is there anything you can tell me about Edward I don’t already know?’ I asked. Wilfred looked steadily back at me. He waited for me to continue. ‘I know,’ I said, ‘he really is English. But can you tell me anything about how he fell in with these northerners? Has he said anything to you that we can spin into actual knowledge?’
‘I have heard him speaking English with Hrothgar,’ came the reply.
That was interesting. I hadn’t been able to catch anything of their conversations beyond the shrill cries for mercy. Was there a blood relationship? They didn’t look very alike, though that was no bar to the hypothesis. I pressed Wilfred on the nature of their conversations. But they’d mostly been connected with the day-to-day running of the ship and keeping four dozen dangerous wild beasts from tearing us all limb from limb.
Otherwise, there wasn’t much Wilfred could give me from Jarrow that I didn’t know for myself. Edward had turned up at the monastery after the last harvest, and been taken in by Benedict without questions. He’d maintained an appearance of plodding idleness that had raised no suspicions with anyone. Since then, his manner had changed markedly. Whatever conversations he and Wilfred had managed out of my hearing, though, were entirely about grammar and history and all else he’d evaded in class. He hadn’t boasted about the brilliance needed to keep up his pose. He hadn’t even gloried in the horrid end that might await the pair of us. This wasn’t the place for dispassionate judgements. But I had to admire the boy. If only! I thought
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